


Sits at a Table

by lovetincture



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Experimental, Gen, Season/Series 15, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:53:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27622993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovetincture/pseuds/lovetincture
Summary: The clock ticks midnight. Somebody is awake.
Relationships: Castiel & Jack Kline & Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Comments: 5
Kudos: 18





	Sits at a Table

**Author's Note:**

> Don't mind me, just getting my feelings about this show and these characters out ahead of tomorrow's finale.

The clock ticks midnight. It finds Castiel still awake and everyone else asleep.

Or it finds Jack awake, strung to the tune of his own particular, idiosyncratic biological clock.

Or it finds Sam awake, not much for sleep these days anyway—hasn't been for years, to tell you the truth—too much in his head, too many miles coated in slick, aching blood.

Or it finds Dean awake. He sleeps just fine most of the time—sleeps like a damn baby, if you consider the stupor of the blind-drunk particularly childlike—but tonight it won't come. Tonight, no matter how hard he hits the bottle, he is _awake._ Terribly, unfortunately awake with a buzzing head and the room tilting slantwise.

These people are awake. All of them, none of them. They're sharing a roof, all of them a ways underground where the light won't reach when morning comes, all of them taking on the pallor of things that slink around in the shadows unseen. A few more millennia, maybe, and they'll lose the power of sight, having not needed it anyway. Vestigial eye-holes will take the place of baby blues or greens or hazels, and they'll turn, blinking, toward any sound or motion.

Two out of the four might even live that long.

Or, no. These people live in a home, but the home is really a bunker. Some number of them are awake.

It's midnight. It's 2 a.m. The clock is ticking on toward morning. Someone blinks, and it's 4:02. The sun is coming up far away.

Castiel sits at the table; this is a story about Cas. Cas sits at the table, watching the numbers on the clock tick upward. It's a digital clock, green numbers shading toward chartreuse. It makes a faint clicking noise as the numbers change.

He's thinking about the other one, one of the sleeping ones—the other other one; remember, they might not be sleeping at all.

Castiel never sleeps. He used to use this time, the quiet hours between dusk and dawn, to seek revelation from his Father. That practice has shown itself to be less than useless, so now he mostly sits quietly and contemplates what he knows of the world. He enjoys thinking on what he knows to be true. Whatever is pure, whatever is lovely or noble or admirable—he has the password for the Netflix account and Sam's computer, but old chains are hard to break.

He spends time thinking of Dean, although not what he'd consider an undue amount of it. There is space for much in these hours, things the day can't contain.

  
Jack sits at the table; this is a story about Jack. He sleeps, although not as much as anyone else. He spends a lot of the time reading, watching movies, learning. He has a lot to catch up on, and he's always somehow behind. He paces the hallways sometimes. He likes to hear people snoring behind their doors, these subtle signs of life.

Jack pours himself a bowl of Frosted Flakes and nudges at the cereal in the bowl. He waits for everyone to wake up.

  
Sam sits at the table. He can't sleep, and the four walls of his room bring back too many bad memories. Tonight, he can't look at the floor of the library without seeing Kevin dead on it, so instead he's come here.

He spreads his research out across the table, print-outs and newspaper clippings, the stack of books he’d pulled from the library, deeming them relevant. He carries it into the kitchen in two armloads, going back for his laptop. It's not a bad place to work. It's quiet, and the coffee is in arm's reach.

He starts a pot and lets the familiar scent of coffee beans chase away the remnants of his haunted thoughts. He didn't plan on sleeping tonight anyway.

  
Dean sits at the table. It's a story about Dean since aren't they all stories about Dean?

  
Sam sits at the table with Cas. Cas is tired. The bruise-dark circles beneath his eyes look soft and thin. Sam presses his thumb into the edge of one and feels the thin skin sink under his hand.

Dean sits at the table with Sam. Neither of them have said anything for an hour, but they keep passing the newspaper’s crossword back and forth.

Jack sits at the table with Dean. The air feels tense and thick. Jack has learned better than to ask questions he doesn’t want the answer to.

  
Jack sits at the table alone.

Cas sits at the table alone.

Dean sits at the table alone.

Sam—


End file.
